


when that music starts to play

by ohmcgee



Category: DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Midnighter (Comics)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Whump, sex pollen but not exactly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: M notices the blood dripping from Grayson’s nose right before he passes out in front of him.





	when that music starts to play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



> geckoholic requested Dick/M hurt/comfort w/ porn on twitter. Hope this works <3

“Aw, Jesus,” Midnighter mutters, biting his own tongue when Grayson grinds back against him. “The fucking music.”

The bright lights and fog in the club make everything seem like a dream, which is usually the only place he ever gets to feel Grayson pressed up against him like this, close enough to lick the sweat from the back of his neck. They came here….They came here for a reason. They were working a mission together, searching for...something. But he can’t seem to get his brain to focus on that bit of information long enough to remember what it is, not when Grayson’s ass is on his dick.

“I know,” Grayson says, reaching back to grab M’s hand and drag it up to his stomach where his shirt has ridden up. “I can  _ feel _ it. Can’t you feel it?”

Midnighter digs his teeth into his bottom lip as he splays his fingers out across Grayson’s sweat-slick abs. God, he feels good. M wants to put his mouth where his hand is, drag his tongue over every swell of well-defined muscle.

“It’s...I think there’s something weird about it,” Dick mutters even as he curls his fingers around M’s and tries dragging his hand lower. The music pauses for a nanosecond, not long enough for anyone without a computer for a brain to register, but thankfully he’s in possession of one of those.

“Fuck,” he growls out, yanking his hand away from Dick’s body. “ _ Door _ .”

The door opens up for him right in the middle of the club and Grayson barely gets out a startled yelp before Midnighter’s dragging him through the portal. They stumble through to the other side, landing in M’s apartment, and Grayson steadies himself with a hand on M’s hip, looks up at him with those goddamn puppy dog eyes that he uses to get him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. And the thing is, Midnighter  _ does _ want. He’s wanted this, to feel Grayson writhing against him, beneath him, wanted to hear what pretty sounds he’d make when he got his fingers in him, if he liked it hard and fast or slow and deep -- but not like this, not because of some fucking alien tech sold to the highest bidder.

Grayson’s pupils are still dilated to hell and back and Midnighter has no idea how long it’s going to take the effects of whatever the music had done to them to wear off, and he should probably definitely get back to that club, destroy whatever tech was causing the dance floor to turn into a  massive orgy. He  _ should _ , but --

“That was,” Dick says softly, licking his lips. “What was that? Hey, I’m really....”

M notices the blood dripping from Grayson’s nose right before he passes out in front of him.

  
  


: : :

  
  


“ _ What _ the hell did you do to him?”

M honestly expected nothing less, but he’ll deal with Grayson’s asshole  _ mentor _ after he makes sure the kid actually fucking survives.

“God Garden tech,” M shoves his way inside the mansion, pushing by Wayne and the butler. “Some kind of radio waves that fuck with --”

“I’ll take him from here,” Wayne snaps, grabbing Dick out of his arms. “Leave. Now.”

“You better be as good as he says you are,” M says, eyes lingering on Dick’s pale, lifeless body for a moment before he calls for a door and jumps back to where it all started.

  
  


: : : 

  
  


The Midnighter always enjoy his job. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t do it. But he takes a distinct, almost sexual pleasure from dismantling the scum for brains that planted the God Garden device in that club, killing almost everyone in it and putting Grayson in a coma. Normally, he gets the job done with a fist through the skull or an easy decapitation, but this one...this one he savors. He relishes the way the bones feel as they shatter beneath his fists, every scream that comes out of the asshole’s mouth, every single splatter of blood that’s spilled. He beats on the man until there’s hardly anything left of him, until he’s not even recognizable as a person anymore. 

“If he doesn’t wake up,” he says, holding the guy’s head up by a patch of hair. “I will personally walk into hell and drag you out so we can do this all over again.”

The sound the guy makes when he reaches into his chest cavity and rips out his heart makes M  _ smile.  _

  
  


: : :

  
  


“I’m sorry,” Alfred says, greeting M at the door when he shows up unannounced a few days later. He’s not quite as ice cold as Wayne is, but M doesn't get the impression he’s thrilled to see him again either. “Master Dick’s condition has not improved. If you would like to leave your contact information, Master Bruce will --”

“He should look at this,” M says, pulling the tiny device that had caused all of this out of his coat pocket. “Grayson says he’s got all kind of tech down there in his cave. Maybe he can figure out what happened and reverse it.”

Alfred squints at the device, then raises an eyebrow at M.

“Yeah, sorry about the blood,” M says, clearing his throat. “Occupational hazard.”

“Sadly, I know all too well about those,” Alfred murmurs, taking the device from M and cleaning it with a handkerchief from his pocket before looking up. “The Midnighter, isn’t it?”

“Just Midnighter,” M says. “The ‘the’ isn’t really necessary.” Not that he doesn’t like the way it sounds.

“Well, Mr...Midnighter. We are greatly indebted to you for bringing this here. Master Dick is stable, but as I said, still unconscious.”

“Yeah, sure. I was just --”

“However,” Alfred says, taking a small step back and opening the door wider. “Doctor Thompkins encourages visitors, especially family and friends.”

“I’m sure she does,” M says. “I’m also sure I don’t fall into either of those categories.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Alfred says. “You’re Master Dick’s most recent nemesis, is it? Funny, none of his previous foes have shown up at our door in the middle of the night with Master Dick in their arms, so panicked with worry that their hands were shaking --”

“I was not --”

“Only to return two days later with the device that could very well save his life.”

“Hn,” Midnighter grunts.

Alfred just laughs. “Yes, I’ve heard that before. Follow me, please.”

  
  


: : : 

  
  


“You sure the big ol’ Bat’s not going to try to kick my ass for being down here?” M asks, looking around at the place as Alfred leads him down the stairs. Dick said it was huge, but this is fucking insane.

“I daresay he can try,” Alfred says, leading M around the corner and down a corridor. “He will, of course, have to come through me first.”

M laughs. “You, I like.”

Alfred smiles. “And despite your...colorful extra-curriculars, I will always hold a fondness for you for bringing our boy back to us,” he says, then opens a door to one of the rooms and allows M to enter. “I’ll leave you two alone now. I was in the middle of making up some of Master Bruce’s favorite cucumber sandwiches when you arrived.”

M nods, distracted by the paleness of Dick’s skin and all the tubes hooked up to him. “Thanks.”

After Alfred leaves the room, M exhales, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, then walks over to stand next to Dick’s bed. As long as M’s known him, or known about him, no matter how many times he called him ‘pretty little thing’ or teased him about being scrawny,he never would’ve considered him fragile. But like this, so pale his skin’s damn near translucent, eyes shut peacefully and unmoving, M’s almost afraid to be in the same room as him.

“Shit,” he breathes out. “This is all fucked up.”

He can’t believe he let this happen. He  _ knew _ the Garden tech was fucking dangerous. He knew taking Dick along to hunt it down was a bad idea, but the idiot just wouldn’t listen to him. He pushed and pushed until M threw his hands up and said fine, whatever.  _ You die, don’t say I didn’t warn you. _

That’s not even the worst bit. The worst part is the fucking doubt. That nagging voice in his head telling him he could have prevented this if he really wanted to. He could have worked harder at convincing Dick to stay away, could’ve locked him up somewhere. But he didn’t. And it wasn’t because he was tired of arguing about it, wasn’t that he didn’t give a shit if Grayson got hurt or not. No, deep down M knows that he gave in because he’s gotten used to having the kid around. That maybe he even  _ wants _ him around, watching his back, fighting alongside of him. Maybe Dick’s lying here in a hospital bed with a machine breathing for him because M is nothing but a selfish asshole.

M hears the footsteps outside and the doorknob being turned, but says nothing when the man enters the room behind him. For a moment they just stand there, the room silent except for the sound of machines beeping and whirring. M doesn’t really know what he should say, if anything. Sorry? Seems a bit crass to him.

“He likes you.”  

M snorts. “He told you that, did he?”

“Of course not,” Wayne says. “Dick is well aware of my opinion on you.”

“Which?”

“Murder aside?” Wayne asks wryly. “That you’re a...bad influence.”

M wants to laugh, but out of respect, he doesn’t. He wants to ask where this jackass gets off accusing  _ him _ of being a bad influence when he turned half of Gotham’s orphans into teenage crime fighters, but maybe another time. When one of said teenage crime fighters isn’t hanging on by a thread three feet away from him. But then, maybe M’s just pissed because Wayne probably has a point

“But I’ve known Dick for a very long time. Even when he tries to hide things from me, I can always tell. He -- trusts you.”

M has nothing to say to that. He would love to argue the point, say even Grayson is smarter than that, but the cold pit forming in his stomach tells him all he needs to know. Wayne’s  _ right _ . His kid, his Robin, the goddamn golden child of Gotham, trusts him. A killer. A crazy, selfish bastard who’s half the reason he’s laying in that damn bed. It doesn’t make any kind of sense.

“You know why I’m telling you this,” Wayne says off-handedly as he checks the numbers on one of the machines. It's not a question, so M doesn't answer it. He doesn’t need to. He thinks this time he and Bruce Wayne are on the same page.

So, after taking one long, last look at Grayson, M grabs his cowl and walks out, leaving Grayson’s fate in their hands. 

  
  


: : :

  
  


Midnighter doesn’t return to Wayne Manor again. He goes back to work taking down assassins in Prague, stopping a bomb in Cambodia, and kicking the high holy hell out of every piece of shit who managed to get their hands on Garden tech between here and there. He tries not to slow down, to keep as many hours of the day as he can dedicated to putting his fists through bad guy’s brains because when he does slow down, when his brain and his hands get quiet, his mind falls back to thoughts of Grayson. Cold and still in the bowels of that dark, damp cave, hooked up to machines. 

He thinks about Wayne saying  _ he trusts you _ . He thinks about Alfred’s tiny sandwiches and the stuffed elephant someone had put on the table next to Grayson’s bed and sometimes, when it’s three in the morning and he can’t fucking sleep, M thinks about that night at the club. The part before everything went tits up. He knows it makes him a bastard, but he can't help but think about the way Grayson pressed up against him, that hard, tight ass grinding on him, Dick’s hand guiding his hand lower down his stomach as they moved together to the music. M comes practically seconds after getting his hand around his dick, every fucking time.

  
  


: : :

  
  


A couple of months later, M follows a lead on a weapon of mass destruction courtesy of the Garden and ends up in a cute little suburb of Gotham, full of hipsters and microbrews. He follows the info he’d been given to a filthy motel across from the bay, busts in the door with his fists at the ready, and is greeted by the familiar sight of Dick Grayson’s ass. Only instead of Spyral gray cargo pants, this time it’s filling out an equally familiar blue and black spandex suit. 

“Nightwing,” he says wryly, shutting the door behind him.

“Midnighter,” Grayson says and turns around. He’s wearing one of those stupid masks all the bat kids wear and M sort of gets why they wear them now. Makes it difficult to get a read on their full expression when their eyes are covered.

“WMDs?” He asks, walking in the room and checking the fridge. He finds a warm beer the last person to use the room must have left and pops the tab.

Dick leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “Well, you don’t call, you don’t write. I figured I’d get your attention that way.”

“Hhn,” M grunts, grimacing at the disgusting beer and tossing the can in the sink. “Next question is what do you need my attention for? I’m fairly certain you’ve got that in spades, Nightwing.”

“Hey, quick question,” Grayson says. “Why are you being such a dick?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Grayson. I was on a date in Switzerland with Grindr user  _ whatsagagreflex92 _ , when I got the intel that there was a bit of really nasty Garden tech in Jersey, spent the next three weeks hunting it down only to find out that an idiot in spandex has been playing scavenger hunt with me. Can’t imagine why I’d be surly, can you?”

“Actually, I thought you might be interested to know I was alive.”

“I check the obits. I knew you weren’t dead.”

Dick’s expression morphs into something unreadable. “Why are you mad at me?”

M forces out a laugh, but it sounds wrong even to him. “I’m not ‘mad’ at you, Grayson. I’m  _ busy. _ I have a life outside of listening to your nagging and bitching and moral superiority lectures while I’m trying to save the fucking world. This may come to a shock to you, but the center of the universe you are not.”

Anger flashes behind Dick’s eyes, shoulders tensing up with it. Good, M thinks. Roll with that, Grayson.

“You know, Bruce told me you never came by. You never called. Just dumped me on the front steps with a shrug and left. But I didn’t believe him. I know Bruce and I know how he feels about our...relationship --”

“We don’t  _ have  _ a  _ \--” _

“But I guess I really am an idiot,” Dick says. “So, I  _ apologize _ for taking you away from your work, Midnighter. It won’t happen again.”

M watches as Grayson crosses the room, heading for the door. At the last second, M huffs and reaches out, catching Grayson by the wrist to stop him, and Grayson interprets the gesture for something it’s not and his body immediately goes into fight mode, twisting M’s arm and slamming him against the wall.

“Grayson,” M grits out, twisting out of Grayson’s hold and blocking the swing he takes at him, the low kick. Okay, so he's definitely angry. “ _ Dick. _ ”

Grayson reaches for one of his stupid sticks and M knocks it out of his hand, grabs Dick by the throat and pushes him up against the opposite wall. M pins him there with the weight of his body, but Grayson could escape. M knows this. But he doesn’t. Doesn't even try. He just stands there, throat flexing against the palm of M’s hand when he swallows, a little out of breath from all the commotion. 

“I'm not trying to fight you, dammit,” M says and Dick just sort of blinks at him as he catches his breath.

“Do you remember the club?” He asks out of nowhere and M's fingers loosen around his throat.

“Which part?”

“The part before my brain almost exploded,” Dick says, wetting his mouth. “The part where we…”

“Grayson,” M sighs. “Don’t.”

“Right. But the thing is, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Maybe there’s still something wrong with your brain.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

M’s not sure which one of them says  _ fuck it,  _ first. All he knows is that Grayson’s mouth is hot and sweet, like butterscotch and Dr. Pepper, and when M lifts him up, he wraps his legs around him instinctively, willingly. Maybe, M thinks, he hadn’t imagined all the flirting, all the crazy mixed signals he thought he'd been misinterpreting. Maybe they weren’t mixed at all.

“Grayson,” he growls out, pulling Dick’s bottom lip between his teeth. “Don’t play with me.”

“Maybe next time,” Dick smirks, pushing M’s coat off his shoulders and reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Right now I think I just need you to fuck me.”

M grabs Dick’s jaw with one hand and crushes their mouths together, lifting his hands to let Dick tug his shirt off over his head. Part of him is still finding it hard to believe this is really what Grayson wants. But the other part is too focused on the fact that Grayson is here, alive and gorgeous and making little noises into his mouth, saying filthy things that make M forget about all the reasons they shouldn't do this.

He fucks Grayson over the counter, suit pulled down to his knees, using spit for lube and taking it slower than he normally would. Grayson reaches a hand back and curls it around his hip, nails biting into M’s skin, and moans like a pretty thing each time M slams into him.

“God, you feel incredible,” M groans, pulling Dick’s body up and cupping his throat, biting at the skin on his throat as he fucks into him. “Wanted this for fucking ever.”

“Could've,” Dick pants, turning his head to catch M’s tongue, kissing him open mouthed and sloppily as they move together. “Didn't think you wanted me.”

“Idiot,” M growls, pulling out of Dick and spinning him around, then lifting him up and sliding back into him. When Dick throws his head back and moans, M goes for the sweet line of his throat, sucking bruises into the pale skin there as he bounces Dick on his cock. “Fucking blind if you didn’t.. _.” _

M trails off, distracted as he watches Grayson stripping his own cock, gasping and moaning every time M fucks into him, and fuck, M  _ feels _ it when he starts to come. He feels Grayson’s hole flutter around him, then the tight, tight clench of it when he spills onto his stomach.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts out, gripping Dick’s hips and pushing his cock into that tight, hot clench until he hears Dick says,  _ M, please,  _ and M comes so hard he swears he blacks out momentarily.

When he comes back to himself his forehead is pressed against Grayson’s shoulder and Grayson’s fingers are tracing one of the tattoos on his arm. When M pulls back to see his face, Grayson smiles at him and...fuck.

He is so fucking  _ gone. _

“You know this is a bad idea,” he says, tipping Dick’s chin up so he can catch his lips in a slow, soft kiss. “I’m a bad, bad man, Dick.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Dick says, wrapping his arms around M’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. “He was wrong too.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohmcgee). If that's a thing you want to do. :)


End file.
